


from up here

by blainedarling



Category: Glee
Genre: Fluff, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Nightflash - Freeform, Seblaine Holiday Extravaganza, nightbird - Freeform, silly cute things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 21:41:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2888900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blainedarling/pseuds/blainedarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine has plans he's keen to keep this New Year's Eve. Even if they are with a man who may as well be a stranger. (for the Seblaine Holiday Extravaganza, #17: Nightflash patrolling the streets on Christmas/New Years day/eve)</p>
            </blockquote>





	from up here

Blaine has been feeling increasingly twitchy since the clock flicked past eleven, the beer in his hand the same one he’s been sporting all night, with no more than a sip or two taken. He’s very obviously the sober one in a room where tipsy has begun to border on drunk, even as far as messy in some people’s cases. The party is loud and busy and no one pays Blaine all that much attention, but he is there.

He is in a few photos, he has socialized, it will be noted that yes, Blaine Anderson did attend Rachel’s annual New Year’s Eve party. A checkmark next to his name. Which is why when he slips out sometime in the next half an hour, no one ought really to notice, or question it the next morning. 

His thumb digs into the peeling label on the side of the bottle, scratching at it insistently. His foot taps off the floor in an erratic beat. Five more minutes. Five more minutes, and he will leave. Eleven minutes at most to get back to his own apartment and change. Seven, maybe eight to get down to the right end of the city, where he’s supposed to be meeting him. He’ll be there by half past. 

 

The couch dips at his side, Rachel’s hand slapping down over his thigh and locking there. “Blaine.” She pouts. “Why aren’t you dancing with me? You should be dancing. With  _me.”_  She tugs at his hand but he sits fast, giving her a gentle but firm smile. Rachel is many things when drunk - but strong is not one of them. Fortunately.

“In a minute, okay?” He gives her a small smile and crosses a finger over his heart. “I just need to run to the bathroom.”  
Rachel claps her hands together and squeals, tripping off into the room. “I’ll be waiting for you under the mistletoe,” she purrs, blowing him a kiss before giggling. 

He smiles after his best friend fondly, standing up and setting down his bottle onto a nearby table that’s cluttered with crushed potato chips and cracked red cups. By the time he looks up again, Rachel has latched herself onto a tall, dark haired guy that he vaguely recognizes from one of the classes they share at NYADA. She won’t even remember that she was supposed to be saving him a dance until once the hangover’s worn off tomorrow, by which time Blaine will have returned to her side proffering all the necessary ingredients to cure said hangover, which should serve as distraction enough.

He smoothes down the front of his jeans and carefully picks his way through the party, slipping out of the front door and out onto the stairwell. His allocated eleven minute maximum becomes thirteen, when he gets caught in a crowd heading downtown, and he curses himself for the minutes lost as he hikes up the stairs to his apartment.

His feet get tangled up in the intricate parts of his suit - as if he hasn’t done this a thousand times before. He’s long since mastered the art of the quick change, lest he have to come up with some explanation as to why he was hopping around in his apartment in a what would appear to be a pair of tights. 

Blaine takes a breath, steadying himself with a hand to the wall before returning to it. “It’s just him,” he murmurs to himself, closing his eyes for a moment to refocus. He’s been doing a good job of ignoring the nerves bubbling at the pit of his stomach.

Nerves isn’t the right word. He isn’t anxious or apprehensive. He’s excited. More so than he has been about anything in a long time. Accidental colleague turned acquaintance turned friend. He’s fairly sure they’re friends now. He’d like to think they’re more than friends, the thought bringing a small dot of colour to each of his cheeks. He’s not sure what the other man would make of that, however.

Blaine lets himself think idly on the night they met, close to eight months ago now. The same street that was chosen for their rendezvous tonight and Blaine somehow can’t help but think that that’s not a coincidence.

_Blaine barely had time to think before he felt the air rushing out of his lungs as his ass hit the concrete. There was a firm hand pinning his arms behind his back and his cape was caught somewhere around his neck, close to strangling him if he didn’t get his attacker off within the next few minutes._

_They struggled for a moment before Blaine managed to aim his knee just right to give the other man a blow to the balls, which had him staggering off of him. For a second or two, they could do nothing but stare at one another. Both had heard stories of one another, doing work as they did, under the cover of the night’s darkness. Neither had believed that the other could be for real._

_“Friend or foe?” he’d asked Blaine, with a small hint of a smile visible underneath the fabric of his mask.  
_ _“Friend.” Blaine got to his feet and brushed off his clothing, before offering out a hand in greeting. “Ally, even?”_

Blaine huffs as he feels a breeze past his side, a can rattling in the gutter as he draws up in front of him.  
“You’re late,” he says, clicking his tongue off the back of his teeth in disapproval. He folds his arms across his chest, highlighting the toned shape of his biceps in the tight material. 

“Some of us only have their feet,” Blaine points out. “Feet which go at a normal, average sort of speed.”  
The taller man laughs and twirls around Blaine’s body, kicking up bits of garbage on the street as he whizzes around erratically before returning to his former position. “Sucks to be them, huh?” He grins widely, before gesturing upwards. “Come on. Let’s get a better view.”

Blaine eyes up the building, his eyes quickly tracking a path for him to be able to get up to the roof. Up the fence, scale the ledge, hop a flight or two and he should be able to reach to haul himself up from there. His confidence has grown in his days on the streets, enough that he doesn’t shy away from taking riskier jumps and leaps than he might first have done. In part, also, because it turns out that carrying large amounts of rope with him every night to aid his movement is really nothing more than a heavy and irritating task.

“Race you to the top,” the other yells, halfway down the street as he gets a run up on the building side.  
Blaine grunts. “That’s not fair! I don’t have-” He cuts his sentence short with a shriek as he feels a gust of air from beneath his cape. His feet begin to move intuitively, and with the boost plus his feet pounding against the sidewalk a few metres has him raised up in the air. He doesn’t get far, but it’s enough to grab the ledge he’d otherwise have climbed to. “Wings,” he finishes quietly, his knuckles white as he clings to the edge.

He’s already at the top, of course, smirking down at him as he reaches a hand to tug Blaine up the remaining half a metre. “I win,” he purrs, his grin making dimples appear at the corners of his mouth. “And I still hoisted you up in the protest, like a true gentleman.”  
“I didn’t ask for your help,” Blaine mutters, sighing softly as his feet meet solid ground again. “Thank you.” He smiles, and the other man returns the gesture with a small nod before walking over to the far side of the building top.

Blaine wonders idly if they should be down in the thick of it, in the streets as they usually would be. Tonight is, for all intents and purposes, a night like any other.   
“They can look after themselves for a little while,” the taller murmurs, as if reading Blaine’s mind, perching on the side of the rooftop and looking out over the city. He pats the space next to him and Blaine sits, too. “I think we deserve to ring in the New Year without having to do so with our fist in someone else’s face, don’t you?”

The city is glistening from up on high, lights spread out across the many buildings. It’s loud, too - enough to tell one that tonight is not just a normal night - music and chatter rising up from down below. Open windows casting secrets from ongoing parties; people singing in the streets as they go along their way. 

“I’d apologize for pulling you away from your social calendar for the evening, but it didn’t look as though you were having all that much fun anyway,” the man comments, with a small shrug.  
Blaine pauses, turning his gaze away from the city that has become his home, to study his face instead. “I’m sorry?”

The man chuckles softly, and if Blaine didn’t know better, he’d have sworn he saw the smallest trace of a blush beneath his red mask. When he doesn’t answer, Blaine feels himself growing frustrated.  
“How do you know what I was doing?” Blaine probes persistently. He feels slightly unsettled. He’s often wondered about the man behind the mask he sees almost every night, but he’s never tried to find answers. Probably wouldn’t even know where to start.

“I know a lot more than you think.” The man straightens, clearing his throat but not taking his eyes off the cityscape. “Blaine Devon Anderson. Born March 11th, Columbus, Ohio. Performing arts major, set design minor. Completely obsessed with Brooks Brothers and hates grilled cheese with a passion, because of a practical joke played on you by your brother when you were ten.” He pauses, licking his lips. “And I know where you live.”

Blaine doesn’t know whether to laugh or to run as far away as he can, as fast as he can. An absurd idea since the other would catch him in a second. He goes for light humour, hoping he can ease his own sudden panic that is flaring at the pit of his stomach. “I should file a restraining order.”

The man looks offended, finally turning to look at him. “Most of that you told me yourself. Except for your address, I’ll admit that I may have found that one out for myself.” His gaze flickers down Blaine’s body briefly before flitting back up to his eyes. “You should be more careful about closing the blinds in your bedroom, by the way.” He laughs at Blaine’s indignant expression. “I’m kidding. Honest. At most, I’ve seen your bare feet. Very  _sexy_  bare feet, of course.”

Blaine doesn’t say anything for a long moment, his brain twisted up into knots trying to figure out what to think, what to feel, about this man anymore. He’ll admit he’s been harboring an embarrassingly large crush on a man he knows barely anything about. A man who it seems is either psychotic or just possesses some very severe stalking tendencies.

The man sighs. “Nick Duval’s July 4th party, last summer. You went to school with him in Ohio. I go to school with him now, here.” Blaine scrunches up his forehead, memories flashing through his mind of the man he’d met that night. Tall, light hair, freckles, warm hands, green eyes, soft lips. A familiar smile.

“Sebastian,” Blaine murmurs, his nerves dissipating into a thousand tiny little butterflies in his stomach. _“Sebastian._  I’m so-” It feels silly to apologize, somehow, even though he is sorry. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”  
Sebastian shrugs. “I wanted to be sure it was you. Even though I was pretty sure from the moment you laughed. I could never forget your laugh.” He clears his throat. “Timing wasn’t right.”

“I’m-”  
“Sh,” Sebastian says suddenly, cutting him off. He lays a finger against his lips to physically silence Blaine, the shorter man blinking, going cross-eyed as he looks down at his finger before back up to him.   
“Whaswrong,” he mumbles, looking out over the city. 

“Do you hear that?” Sebastian asks, moving his hand away and turning his whole body towards Blaine. His hands graze over Blaine’s arms, fingers touching together before he drops them back down to his sides. 

It’s numbers, numbers echoing between the buildings. People down below are beginning the countdown. Various cries start up soon after, explosions of  _Happy New Year!_  across the cityscape just as the fireworks kick into the air. Sebastian’s lips find his own, a short chaste kiss that somehow still manages to leave Blaine feeling somewhat light-headed. 

“Sebastian,” Blaine whispers again, just because he can, the name ghosting out over the taller man’s lips. “I like being able to call you something other than The Flash. It’s so pretentious,” he teases, his fingers tracing the lightning symbol against his chest.  
“You’re one to talk,  _Nightbird_.” Sebastian grins. “But I would much rather hear you moaning out Sebastian than that, anyway.”

Blaine opens his mouth to protest about how Sebastian has a long way to go before he’ll get him moaning anything, but then his lips are back on his own, and he’s finding it hard to remember what it was he was planning on objecting to in the first place.


End file.
